


Noctus Interruptus

by simplebitch



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Coop needs a hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bethany and carver lived, justice approaches problem solving in a very linear fashion, protect the apple king, two sets of hawke twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplebitch/pseuds/simplebitch
Summary: Technically speaking, as a spirit of the Fade, Justice doesn't need to sleep.There are tactical benefits to this, he's quick to respond if something goes wrong, there's always someone to keep guard, and Anders can get the sleep he needs. It also means, he's usually the first to provide comfort when needed to the remaining Hawkes of the Amell estate.





	

“ _ Where is it? _ ” It had been an instinct built upon necessity that prompted Justice to take control when a shattering glass broke the silence of the night.

The spirit shot up, one hand flung out instinctively in search of the familiar weight of a body that wasn’t there.

“ _ Where is it, where is it? _ ” While the risk of a Templar raid in the middle of the night had dropped substantially, this arrangement allowed Anders to get the rest he needed while still having someone alert in case of an attack.

“ _ Maker’s sodding ass—where did I put it?” _ And though the breaking glass wasn’t from a would be robber, Justice found himself struck by a swell of unease when he followed the noise to the source.

Cooper was frantically searching through the papers on his desk, pawing at missives and invitations, shaking out books before tossing them away in disgust. Justice recognized the signs of a panic attack, had both seen and experienced them too many times to count, and he had to wonder how long Cooper had been in the study.

“Cooper…” The archer didn’t respond to his name, muttering to himself as his motions became more manic, more erratic.

Some things fell off the desk, books, a paperweight, porcelain cups of tea long gone cold, they all clattered to the floor and added to the overall sense of chaos in the normally meticulous study. And he ignored all of them, grabbing at the next closest sheet of paper and holding it at arm’s length as he squinted, trying to make out the words. He didn’t have his glasses; they’d been left on the stand next to the bed when Justice had woken. The spirit held the spectacles in his hands, blue veined fingers gentle around the wire rims as he watched the human in growing worry.

“This isn’t. It.” Cooper growled, flinging the papers away in disgust. “Where? Where are they? Can’t see them. Have to make sure…”

With an angry growl the archer swept everything off of his desk, broken glass and all and it came as no surprise when a piece of it got caught in his hand. In his current state Cooper didn’t seem to register the pain, didn’t seem to care about the blood that was welling up, though the glass itself was harder to ignore.

“I can’t—I can’t—I failed them. They’re not—they’re gone. My fault.” Cooper let out a broken sob, slapping his good hand down on the desk at his brows knit together in confusion when a drop of blood landed on it.

He curled his hand into a fist, going quiet as his eyes glazed over. Justice watched as the archer’s attention fixated on how the glass was pushed deeper, sending a rivulet of blood running down his wrist. Cooper was dissociating, his brain becoming so overloaded by whatever it was that had woken him to the point where it was shutting down completely. It was then that the spirit stepped inside to intervene.

“Cooper.” He says again, voice calm but firm as it drew the archer’s attention.

Justice could see the gears turning in his head as Cooper processed the visual stimuli of the spirit’s approach, breaking through the fog. Reluctantly, he allows Justice to uncurl his fingers, sending a new gush of blood out to stain his skin, and the sleeve of his shirt. If he noticed it, he didn’t give any indication, brown eyes wide and mouth working silently.

“I can’t find it.” He repeated, slower and softer this time as his voice tapered off in a keening whine.

It sends a knife of pain stabbing through the spirit.

Once, years ago, Justice remembered telling Anders that Cooper was a distraction. That he was keeping them from the cause, that Anders should distance himself and focus on the things that truly mattered. The mages, the manifesto, fixing the corruption and injustice in Kirkwall and…  _ him. _

He can admit now— _ has  _ admitted—that it was jealousy fueling his disapproval. Anders had been his first friend, upon being pulled out of the Fade. Not his only friend; Justice considered all of Simon’s first wardens as his friends, but Anders had been the closest. Had been the only one he trusted well enough to merge with. And then he had the mage all to himself, had seen his pride, his sorrow, had experienced his joy, anger, heartache… it was impossible not to love him. Justice didn’t want to  _ share,  _ and feeling Anders’ interest pass to someone else had been hard.

It had taken time for the spirit to realize that Anders had more than enough love for the both of them, that his feelings for Cooper didn’t change his feelings for Justice. It had taken even longer for Justice to look past his own resentment, and the dissonance it was creating for Anders, and get to know the archer. Cooper had always treated him like an equal, hadn’t spat and turned his attention away, hadn’t called them an abomination. No, he had accepted him from the beginning, had gone out of his way to seek the spirit’s counsel, as well as dedicating himself to the mage rights movement.

Anders had fallen in love with supporting hands, small, shy smiles shared and inside jokes. Justice had fallen in love during those long nights at the clinic spent scanning lines of the manifesto, quiet suggestions, and hard eyes moving to right every wrong he encountered. And he loves this archer. Loves him so much it makes him wonder if he had changed from a spirit of justice to a spirit of love instead.

To see Cooper in such pain, emotional and physical, distressed him.

“What are you looking for?” Justice asked simply, setting the glasses down on the desk and coaxing the glass out of his hand.

He didn’t know how to ease the knot of emotional pain, beyond fixing the physical issues. Grounding Cooper, helping him find what he needed, and tending to his immediate needs. Justice pushed healing magic into his hand once the glass had been removed, knitting muscle and vein and skin until there was no evidence of the gash left. Next he busied himself with wiping the blood up as best he could, using his own shirt.

“Letters…” The word is a soft whisper, barely there and shaking with emotion. “From Beth and Carver. I can’t—I  _ need  _ them. I need to know they’re safe. I can’t protect them—can’t see them—if I don’t—“

The others followed in a rush, breaths short and sharp as the anxiety built again. The family had always been at the crux of his guilt, and losing both of the younger twins at the same time had started it. Carver gone to the Taint in the Deep Roads, had he and Anders not been there, not been able to find Stroud, the boy would have died a ghoul. And then they came home to find Bethany joining the Circle, turning herself in and being locked away in the Gallows that were becoming worse and worse. Now that they’d lost Leandra, Cooper clung to the letters they sent, reading them obsessively and latching on to Hayden.

The letters themselves weren’t the root of the problem. Anders said it was the feeling of powerlessness; Cooper was the oldest, carried the wellbeing of the Hawke family on his shoulders, and he blamed himself for everything that had happened. If he’d just left Carver at home, if they’d gotten back sooner to stop Bethany, if they’d moved faster they could have stopped Quentin… What if’s, hypotheticals that ate him alive and were only compounded on by the issues brewing in Kirkwall. They had explained to him, following a linear, logical path, that none of it was Cooper’s fault, but reason and emotion didn’t always lead to the same results. And emotions, much as he’d come to understand them in his years outside of the Fade, were a complicated business.

He didn’t know the words to make everything better.

“You keep them in the desk drawer. Have you checked there?” He offered gently.

Cooper went stiff, eyes widening as he reached forward with a shaky hand for his glasses. One finger hooked around the wire frames, pulling them towards the edge so he could put them on. He didn’t say anything, but Justice can see the color rising to his cheek.

It wasn’t unexpected. They had been sleeping, his clothes were haphazardly thrown on—the shirt is backwards—and his glasses had been left behind on the night stand. Cooper had been woken from a dead sleep, from a nightmare most likely, his thoughts occupied by the twins. By needing tangible proof that they were still alive.

“Let me look for you.” The spirit moved around the desk, pulling open the top drawer.  

As he looks, he can hear the shifting of papers again. Cooper sank down to the ground, a quiet laugh tapering off into a sob as he hid his head under his arms. His shoulders shook, and Justice doesn’t need to see his face to know that he’s crying again.

“Some fucking Champion I am.” His head falls back against the desk with a loud, hollow thunk that prompts a pained noise from the spirit. “Can’t even… the fucking desk. Of  _ course  _ they’re in the desk. Where they always are. I’m a fucking mess.”

Justice offered the letters in silence, watching Cooper press the parchment into his chest as his eyes drifted shut. His breathing slows after a few seconds, lips twitching around words that can’t be made out, a prayer or a promise. The archer presses into his side, their legs flush against one another, shoulders brushing, and it comes as a relief when he lets his hand rest on the spirit’s thigh.

“I’m sorry.” He said suddenly, voice rough and hoarse, eyes still shut.

Justice blinks in confusion, reaching up to brush his thumb over the other man’s face, swiping away the now cold tears. “For what, Cooper?”

“For me. For this.” His hand lifts, waving between them, and the sleeve is stuck to his arm from the tacky, drying blood. “I woke you up.”

“I don’t sleep.”

His eyes opened at the revelation, whisky brown and showing some interest, some emotion. “Really? So you just… what do you do?”

A distraction, Justice thought, might be helpful.

“I am always aware, though normally passively. Anders’ body needs rest as much as his mind does.” The spirit admitted. “Normally I just listen… occasionally watch you sleep.”

“Really?” This time the word was followed by a shy smile. “It must be boring.”

He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and his face had to have a deeper glow of sapphire to indicate his embarrassment. “You are fascinating.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t know how much of a reassuring presence you are.” Justice explained defensively. “Your weight, the heat you give off, the way our feet always seem to find you even when you complain it’s too warm to cuddle.”

“It’s more than that though. Your breath is constant, I love to listen to your heartbeat. It proves you’re there and alive. Sometimes your face crinkles up, and you grumble when it’s time to wake up in the morning… you talk in your sleep too.”

“Anything interesting?” Cooper gave him a sweet look, shifting towards him and resting his chin on the spirit’s shoulder.

“Most of it is delightfully absurd. One night we had an entire conversation about goat cheese versus bronto cheese. You’re wrong, by the way, about the bronto cheese. It’s disgusting. Sometimes it’s truly bizarre and other times you have nightmares.” Those nights were the worst, when he’s shaken into awareness by an overwhelming press of pain, fear and heartache.

The nights when there’s nothing for them to do but curl around Cooper and hope for a more restful sleep. It doesn’t work as often as he’d like.

The laugh that he earns is a near silent thing, but when Cooper scooches closer, practically placing himself in Justice’s lap, the spirit thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

“Thanks Justice. I’m glad you were here.” His eyes dropped down to the letters, a whisper of parchment as he unfolds the first one. “Do you… mind?”

“No, by all means.” Justice shifted to wrap his arms around Cooper’s waist, pulling him close.

As the archer settled in to read, he made sure that Justice could read over his shoulder, should he so desire. For the most part he let his eyes skim over the letters, focusing more intently on the man in his arms. Cooper is a warm, welcome weight against him, and the spirit likes to mark the stages as he falls asleep. His body grew heavy, muscles relaxing and shoulders dropping when Justice reached up to knead at the knotted muscles in his shoulders. The yawns gradually become more frequent, marked by the way his restless fidgeting slows and stops completely when Cooper slumps against him.

And while he loved watching Cooper sleep—and he adores it, could watch it forever—if they don’t get back to bed, and spread out, the archer’s hips will be locked up painfully in the morning.

“Hnfrbl.” Cooper scrunched his face up when he’s moved, snuggling close into his chest. “I’m the apple king. How dare you suggest  _ pie  _ for dinner? Cannibals.”

“You are a strange, sweet man.” Justice chuckled fondly, carrying him back to bed.

The office would have to wait until tomorrow for cleaning, something they should see to after breakfast, maybe a later day in bed if they can manage it. Justice knew that once the fog of the night, and hopefully a restful sleep, cleared the remains of the anxiety attack, Cooper will be embarrassed. Anders would have to talk to him, use his words, and empathy, to untangle that knot, and if they’re lucky he’ll convince Cooper to set aside the worries of an underappreciated city for at least a few hours.

For now, at least, they can sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Coop is actually a pretty happy go lucky guy. Which would be more obvious if I wrote something for him that wasn't featuring of a depressive state. I love the fluff boy, and yet I feel the urge to make him suffer.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy an attempt at angst. Kudos/Comments are always appreciated!


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